Precedent
by spheeris1
Summary: Spencer POV :: Angst :: One-shot :: Post-show :: Just something I popped out because I kept listening to this really good but really emotional song...


You set the precedent and all the others will fall in line.

Dark eyes. Strands of brunette. Smoke-filled voices.  
>Charming liars. Sarcastic laughter. Tender and terrible at the same time.<p>

You set the standard and this is one label I do not try hard enough to shake.

**8 8 8**

"You don't know **what** you want."

Over-dramatic and boringly familiar, Spencer merely rolls her eyes as the door slams shut and Angela storms away. There's a bag in the girl's hand this time, so it must be a real break this time, too.

The arm is still down, needle repeating a groove, but the song is over.

It is a metaphor that works on a million different levels.

**8 8 8**

_"You don't know what you want...and I don't know if you'll ever know and it's too confusing and... and complicated and it hurts way too much..."_

Those words used to haunt her so much, how easily they fell from her tongue - like fingers losing hold and finding nothing but air - those words tumbled out and rushed to the ground.

Ashley looked so wounded, standing there in Chelsea's studio.

And it could have been reversed, even then, it could have all been a bad dream and fixed in the morning. It could have been an interlude instead of an ending.

But when the dawn came, Ashley slid off of Aiden's motorcycle and Spencer remembered why those words flowed out so effortlessly.

Spencer remembered all the reasons why forgiving Ashley would never happen.

**8 8 8**

Her eyes travel along smooth curves and the sheets are cast aside, two people murmuring into the night. And when Spencer shudders out her orgasm, it's like starting over.

The washing over of lust. The not-so-subtle looks. The first touch.

This one is a musician and Spencer asks her to sing, smiling and nodding at those scratchy songs as they trip - one after the other - from this songbird's bruised lips.  
>It's a nice way to sleep. It's a nice way to wake up, too.<p>

They date and they tell stories and Spencer kind of hopes that this one will work out.

This one looks pretty in the sunlight. And when the daytime bleeds out to evening, for a second, this one shape-shifts into someone else and Spencer kind of knows that nothing will ever work out again.

**8 8 8**

You set the precedent and every one of them falls short.

Never warm enough. Never wild enough. Never callous enough.  
>No sand stuck to their feet. No slurs in their speech. No drum-beat of a heart under my ear.<p>

You set the standard and this is one rule I do not attempt to bend.

**8 8 8**

Spencer has new friends in this new town and they all look at her with conflicting emotions, a mixture of humor and concern. They watch women come and go with alarming frequency as Spencer is unable to make a relationship last. They hesitate to set Spencer up with anyone - but not for Spencer's sake.

It's for the poor girls who wander in so innocently and who leave so totally jaded.

Spencer is lovely to look at and nice to talk to but so dangerous to love.

Her new friends know this and they still care about her. They still think that, with time, the serial monogamy will cease and some pretty face will capture Spencer's eye and it'll be wedding bells and forever-after-amen.

Those old friends would know better, though.

That's why Spencer does not talk to those old friends anymore.

**8 8 8**

"What do you do?"  
>"I make films. Documentaries."<br>"That's, um, cool."

Spencer smiles in reflex, used to such responses. No one finds her job interesting.

It is usually too 'PBS' for them.

"I like it enough."  
>"Uh, Lucy said you like art a lot as well...?"<p>

A statement wrapped up in a question and Spencer internally sighs. She's not into this tonight. She's not interested in the ramblings of some woman who probably has not read a book since elementary school.

Those long fingers may play piano and those long fingers might even be good in bed but, tonight, Spencer is just tired of trying to give a damn.

"I do like art. I like all sorts of films, too and I like eating Thai food, like almost every day. I'm a Democrat but, really, I think all politics suck. I have a brother and a mother and a father. I'm from Ohio originally. I miss the snow during wintertime. And you and I are not going to work, okay? You are cute and we'd probably have some fun..."

_But I'm like a busted radio. I just play the same ol' tune. I am a station permanently stuck._

"...Eventually, though, I won't care when you walk away. In fact, I'll welcome it."

**8 8 8**

Spencer sits there with her honesty and it tastes sweet and it tastes deadly.

The honesty coats her tongue, thick like honey, and slips on down her throat. It overwhelms her and it chokes her and it fills up her belly.

She's been starving on deception for days and days and days.

**8 8 8**

You set the precedent.

You set the standard.

You broke the mold and God didn't dare create another girl like you.

And this is one truth that I do not know how to hate nor to have.

**8 8 8**

**-end-**


End file.
